


if we stay swimming here, we'll never be free

by swallowedsong (bookstvnerdlove)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 01:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3231623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookstvnerdlove/pseuds/swallowedsong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>modern au. even as she proposes the game of truth or lie, she’s not sure if it’s because she’s trying to save them. or if she just can’t take him hating her when he finally leaves. because everybody leaves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if we stay swimming here, we'll never be free

The alcohol burns a path down her throat, settling low in her belly since she skipped lunch. He's standing across from her, mirroring her pose, hands on the edge of the counter, body leaning towards each other. And his face, it's frozen with that expression on his face - lips pressed together and eyes narrow - the same cold expression he's been wearing for days. She holds his eyes with hers because she's not one to back down from a challenge, even when she's in the wrong.

Especially when she's in the wrong.

"Let's play a game," her voice is steady, despite the spread of heat from the whiskey that's quickly moving through her veins.

He doesn't answer, he merely tilts his head to the right and his eyes widen - not much, but enough to know he's interested in where she's headed. She turns to grab his bottle of rum and a shot glass and when she whirls back she meets his eyes again and she'd swear that there's a smile hiding somewhere in there. 

It quickly disappears, though, that trace of their former happiness and there's a twist in her chest, right around her heart, where her past, her decisions, where everything she's done wrong grabs the organ and squeezes it tight. She pours him a shot and slides it across the counter and says, "The first one is free. The rest are earned."

He throws it back with ease and slams the glass onto the counter and he watches her carefully, his eyes darting to and fro as he tries to catalogue her reactions. He still hasn't said anything, which worries her, because he's always been the one with the words. He's always been the one who said the right thing at the right time, when she was panicking or running away. 

She clears her throat and stammers for a second before the right words come, "Just twenty questions," she whispers. "You have twenty questions and if, at the end, you still want to leave. Well, I won't stop you."

He arches a brow at her and gestures to the alcohol between them and she flushes. "If you think I'm lying, challenge me. If you're right I'll take a shot. If you're wrong you drink."

He nods and - of course - his first actual words of the exchange are about her. "Fine," his voice is hard and cold. "But if we do this, you eat first."

__

He burns his first two questions while they cook dinner. It's not much, just two grilled cheese sandwiches, but from the way he slants a glance in her direction as he pulls the ingredients from her fridge, she knows that it's not by accident. 

"You've been pushing me away on purpose," he says and it's a question, but not a question at the same time, because they both know the answer to it.

But it's fair to him to say it out loud, "Yes."

He nods as he fires up the stove and she preps the food. She's already feeling woozy from the first shot, so it's good that she's eating because as much as she  _wants_  to tell the truth, she knows what he's going to ask. And she has no idea if she will be able to stop the lies that spill from her mouth. 

"Why?"

"I've always been epically good at lying to myself," she answers. "I've always been good at spotting a liar because I'm the biggest one of all."

He hums in response and her gaze pins on his throat - the way it works to swallow, the way it vibrates with his voice. It's like everything rushes at her at one, the memories of her lips traveling that strong column, pressing at his pulse point, her fingers in his hair. She flushes and he states, "You're thinking about sex right now."

She shakes her head and says emphatically, "No."

He motions at her whiskey and shot glass and she pours a half shot and slams it. "It wasn't really a question."

"And yet you still weren't honest."

"I know."

__

"Why were you lying to yourself?" he asks her as they move to the living room. They sit at opposite ends of the couch, cross-legged, and he pulls the coffee table closer so they can reach their alcohol. He hasn't taken a shot since the beginning and she knows that if anybody ends the night drunk and alone, it will be her. He knows her too well, he knows when she's lying, like nobody else she's ever known.

(Except for Lily and that was so long ago that surely she's another person by now.)

(Or, maybe not, and that's the problem.)

"We said in the beginning what this was," she looks down at her hands where they're twisting together as she remembers that night. 

The way his hands pressed at her shoulders, sliding her jacket down her arms, the way his hands slid under her skirt as she unzipped his pants. The way he fucked her against the door to his apartment and the way she'd said,  _this is a one time thing_ , and the way he'd laughed and said,  _there's no way once will be enough._

"I remember  _you_  saying what it was, love. Not me," he bites out and she raises her eyes to his. 

"I don't remember you disagreeing when we agreed that it was just sex. Just  _casual_."

And he pours himself a shot with a sigh. And even more strangely, he smiles at her afterwards, a deprecating smile that lifts the corner of his lips and doesn't meet his eyes. 

__

"I'll forfeit a question and let you ask one, you know," he says. 

"I'll consider it," she replies.

But she doesn't say anything. 

__

"You still have fifteen questions," she says after a few minutes of silence. 

He counters with, "When did you decide to push me away?"

"I didn't."

"Lie."

She pours him a shot and her voice fills with sarcasm, "It's not like I woke up one morning and said,  _wow, today's a good day to fuck up my life._ "

He drinks and she pours herself a shot because the next question is going to be hard, and she always likes to be prepared. "I don't this people really work that way. But I did know I was doing it. Once I started."

She pauses and tilts her head at him, "Does that make any sense?"

He shakes his head no, but he says, "Maybe," and she takes that as progress. 

"You felt it though?" he asks, "When it all changed. You felt it?"

She takes her drink and stands to pace the room. She goes to sip the amber liquid but he he stops her with a grunt. She shrugs and drains the glass because she made the rules of this game anyway, and she can break them if she wants. 

"I told you," she grinds out the words, "I'm an expert at lying. Knowing when other people lie, lying to myself. Lying to  _you._ " 

"What does that even mean?" He jumps up, too, frustrated. And it reminds her of that night two weeks ago. When this all started, when he came by the station with two cups of coffee for their date and she was already drinking some, pouring over a case file. 

__

You forget our plans?  _He'd asked her, all frosty tone but just light enough that she knew he'd forgive her if she just said the right thing. But she hadn't. She'd sent him away with a quick jab of I_ 'm too busy for this right now _. And he'd replied,_ what's new,  _with all his frustrated injury._

__

She takes her shot even though she hasn't lied yet because it's in her hands and her hands feel so heavy. Her body feels heavy, everything just feels like too much. He's standing, angry at her, and he has every right to be and she started this game and she hates herself for opening her up to this. 

This interrogation. This self-reflection. 

She wants to swallow all the truth along with the liquid running down her throat. 

(There's a reason she was always bad at therapy.)

"I knew," she whispers and then, voice a little stronger. "I knew and I told myself I was wrong. That it was still just sex, even when I gave you that key. I convinced myself it was to skip that step, the asking. To make it more convenient to use you. To lose myself in you."

"But really?" 

Her shoulders slump and she runs her fingers through her hair. "I wanted more and didn't know how to ask."

"Because it's terrifying to think you might need somebody else."

And it's not a question, so she merely nods. 

__

He burns two more questions.

"Still hungry?"

"No."

"Do you want me to go?"

"No."

__

_They met five years ago when she questioned him about a case. He'd come to the station and by the end of the day he'd asked her out to dinner. She turned him down but gave him her number and they quickly became friends._

_And then a year ago they'd become something else after a night out with Ruby and Graham, a night of foreplay on the dance floor, his hands on her hips and hers sliding along his back. After a night of his lips teasing her neck and her body tingling with want._

__

"I'll take your offer," she says after they settle back on the couch. This time their legs tangle together under the blanket and it sends a zing along her body, this touch after weeks of absence. "But," she continues, "What's your price?"

"No price."

"Why did you agree, then? If it meant more to you?"

__

_They lay on their backs, the heat of the sunlight through her windows surrounding them. She's sweaty and sated and he's looking smug and just as satisfied as her. He smiles at her as he pushes the strands of hair - the ones sticking to her face - away. He leans in for a gentle press of lips and her heart flutters._

This keeps happening, _he says with a smile and part of her wants to smile back at him, wants to say that it can keep happening and please, will he stay._

_But she doesn't. She pulls back and she sees the flicker of hurt across his face before he rolls to his side and out of the bed._ It doesn't have to be a thing,  _he says as he watches her sit up, pulling up her sheet, covering her body._

_He kneels on the bed and he slides his hands along her shoulders, up, up, up, until their cupping her cheeks._ Keep it light, eh?  _He asks her as he presses one last kiss to her lips with a whispered,_ let me know.

__

"I wanted you," he answers. "I've always wanted you."

He shrugs as she watches for lies before continuing, "And I thought that I could be happy with it. That it would be enough..."

He trails off and she can see the truth in his eyes. "Okay," she drawls, but she shakes her head and adds, "That's not all."

He grins and pours a shot but before he can drink she says, "No. We'll make it another question."

"Those aren't the rules."

"Rules sometimes change in the middle of the game."

And they both know that they're not just talking about tonight. 

"I thought, in time, you'd see. You'd change your mind. If I could just  _be there_ , no pressure, everything would fall into place."

Her eyes burn with tears and she presses her hands to them to stem the flow. She doesn't want him to see her like this, maudlin after the alcohol, wishing she could be the person that he wants her to be. But he's not done, apparently, because he shifts and his hands circle her wrists and gently pry her hands from her face. 

"I was wrong," he's gentle as he speaks, his thumbs tracing a pattern over her skin. "I was wrong to pretend it was something else for me."

"I was wrong, too," she admits. "I was wrong to lie to myself so much that I also lied to you."

"So where does that leave us?" he asks. 

"Do you want that to be a question?" she parries. 

"Yes to both."

"Six questions left, then," and he shrugs at her again, looking unconcerned. 

She takes a gulping breath before answering, "I don't know yet."

__

When she wakes up, it's still dark out and her mouth is dry and cottony. She slides off the couch, careful not to wake him as she grabs some water from the kitchen. She's standing, staring out of the window, not seeing her usual view through the black of the night. But she knows that if she opened the window she'd hear the wind and the faint sounds of the harbor. 

They hadn't finished their game last night. She'd taken her shot after the last answer. 

_I don't know._

She does know. She's known for months what she wants and she's known that it took her much longer to reach that point than him. At least he stayed, she considers as she sneaks a peek at him over her shoulder, his body shifting on the couch with her gone, until and arm hangs over the edge, hitting the floor. 

__

There are six questions left, but there's really only one that matters and it's the last one that he asked. She knows there's a chance. He'd stayed after all, pulling her body into his, stretching out under the blanket. His fingers threading through her hair, pressing into her scalp, soothing her to sleep. 

She thought she heard him whisper words against skin as he placed his lips against her neck, as he breathed in her scent. She's not ready for those words yet. 

If she's right, that is.

But she might be. One day. 

__

When she makes her way back to the couch, she brings him a glass of water, too, and she traces her finger against his cheek, knowing the light touch will be enough for him to stir. He sits up and tugs at her shirt until she's sitting next to him. 

"Six questions left," she says as he runs his hands through his hair and across his face before gulping down his water. 

"You never answered my last," he replies, tone serious and eyes intent. "And it's the only one that really matters, love."

"I know."

He waits while she formulates her response, all quiet patience, and she takes his hand to stall for time, threading their fingers together. 

"I want you to say," she begins. "Not just tonight, but tomorrow, too."

"That's a start."

She looks up at him and his expression is finally soft again. an expression she hadn't seen since that night at the station. "And I want to be honest."

His other hand cups her cheek and he says, "We can do that."

This time when he leans in for a kiss, she meets him more than halfway, her legs straddling him and her body pressing into his. Her hands tunnel into his hair as they remain close, heat building. She pulls her lips away and admits, "I'm not ready for  _everything._ Not yet."

"We'll work towards it together," his breath hits her lips as he speaks. He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, the one that always falls, the one he always puts back into place, before his lips claim hers again.

__

They still use the remaining questions, later.

"Do you like this?"

She moans.

"And this?"

"Yes."

"Shall we see how ready you are?"

She gasps his name, then, "Please."

"Is that a request or an order, love?"

Their bodies flip and then it's his turn to beg.

"Are you ready?"

His eyes darken and his hips press against her body. 

She smiles as he throws his head back with a groan.

And then, finally, "Are you with me?"

He opens his eyes, "Yes. Always."

 

 


End file.
